“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Please. This is going to sound like I’m talking complete shit, but you completely made my day.” Her eyes widen and she starts to shake her head. I give her hand a squeeze. “I’m serious. Thank you for coming over. What’s your name?”
She smiles shyly at me. “Misty.”
“That’s a great name.”
Her smile spreads into a grin, and the waiter comes over to refresh my drink. I return her smile and ask, “Can I order you anything?”
“Uh, no. I’m good, thanks.”
The waiter leaves, and Misty looks down at our hands. I realize I haven’t let hers go and do so quickly before she thinks I’m a total creeper. “Are you here for vacation?”
“No, actually, I work here. At the nail bar. Well, at least I will be from Monday.” She suddenly stands as if she remembers something. “Shit, I’ll probably lose the job before I start if my new boss sees me. I just had to come over. We’re not allowed to talk to the guests. I mean, the important guests. Uh…not that the other guests aren’t important but… I better go.”
She’s so flustered I feel bad for her. “I might stop by and get my nails done.” I look at the lime on my fingers. “Something more out-there.” I give her a wink.
She smiles “I think you’ll look great with the new matte look.”
“I’ll definitely stop by. Can I sign something for you?” She’s been so sweet and really pulled me out of my funk; I want to do something for her.
“Ohmygod, are you serious?” “She looks around frantically for a pen. I reach for the Sharpie I always keep in my bag and pick up the napkin from the table.
She holds out her hand hesitantly. “Actually, would you mind signing my wrist?”
“Not at all.” Taking her wrist in my hand, I pull the cap off with my teeth. “Do you want it to face you, or do you want others to see it?”
“I’m getting this tattooed, so I want it to face me. Screw everyone else.”
We laugh and I position myself next to her. It’s tricky, and I end up having to put her arm under mine in a weird arm-lock that looks like something out of an action movie. “I’m sorry about the boob sweat. It’s hot as hell out here.”
“Like I’m going to complain about having your body fluids on me.” She face-palms and groans. “I just made this weird again, didn’t I?”
I giggle, and God it feels good. “Not at all. You’re not the one who brought boob sweat into it.”
Misty laughs so hard I have to wait to finish signing my name, but I do. I blow on her skin until the ink dries. When I’m sure it won’t smudge, I let go of her arm, and she pulls me into a hug that feels like it comes from the bottom of her soul and reminds me that there is still good in this world. She hasn’t asked me about Ethan or the baby or anything personal. She really does suit her name.
She lets go and waves awkwardly. “Thank you so much. I’m going straight to get this tattooed.”
“Thank you, Misty. Seriously. Your name is perfect, you know that? You’re like a breath of cool when things are stifling. Soft and refreshing.” It’s my turn to blush, and I give her a smile. “See, you’re not the only one who gets poetic.”
Misty takes off, smiling down at her autographed wrist. The waiter brings me my drink while I reach for my phone and open Instagram for the first time in weeks, bracing myself to see a bunch of shit about me and Ethan, and how I’d destroyed him by cheating and carrying another man’s baby. Or worse, how I deserved to lose the baby. I started scrolling.
Surprisingly, instead of all the hate I was expecting about me, I’m not in the headlines for a change. Every second post on the feed is about LP-45 and their new video. One of the posts has a link to the music video that landed them in the shit, and I open it. The most gorgeous pair of turquoise eyes stare back at me and nearly have me tipping my daiquiri all over myself. Damn, his label can sell a shot. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a picture of Kade Tennick, LP-45’s frontman. I’ve even seen him in person albeit from a distance when they won Best Rock Song last year, when I won Best Music Video for “Unchain Me.” I probably would’ve met them at the after-party, but I tried to avoid going to those sorts of things when I was with Ethan. He’d always get crazy jealous, and it just wasn’t worth it, so Ethan went, and Bridget and I had a pajama party with Brendan.
I can’t stop staring at my screen. The video is for their latest single, “Lack of Evidence.” It’s shot in a crime lab, and if the comments on the video are true, the girl in the video isn’t an actress but an actual honest-to-God lab technician. A gorgeous lab technician at that, with iceberg eyes, purple hair, and piercings that make me think she has layers and levels that go deeper than her alabaster skin. The video is about a breakup—an angry, emotional, rips-your-heart-in-two breakup—with hot-as-fuck angry sex. It pushes the boundaries, especially one scene when the girl, with a death grip on Kade’s neck as she grinds against him, moves up to… I lean in a little closer. Yup, the girl is actually straddling Kade’s face with her fun parts.
I
